


Hollow Things

by RobinAbbey



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Angst, F/M, Healing, Hurt/Comfort, Post-Captain America: The Winter Soldier, Redemption, Slow Build
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-07-12
Updated: 2014-07-27
Packaged: 2018-02-08 13:54:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 4,985
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1943664
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RobinAbbey/pseuds/RobinAbbey
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“We’re a couple of broken things, aren’t we?”</p>
<p>Natasha met his gaze with an equal intensity of her own. “Being broken isn’t permanent.”</p>
<p>“How long did it take for you? To not be broken?”</p>
<p>A cruel smile tugged on the edges of her mouth. “I’ll let you know when I get there.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There are a few things you'll have to know right off the bat.
> 
> 1\. In this fic, Bucky and Natasha didn't meet before the events of TWS, other than what happened in Odessa. I'm just going off what Marvel's giving us since it doesn't look like we're getting much of them together in the MCU.
> 
> 2\. This takes place right after that one scene after the credits where Bucky's at the exhibit.
> 
> That should be all for now, enjoy! Comments/critique very much appreciated!

Natasha didn’t have to enter her apartment to realize something was off. Someone else was in there, she realized as soon as she stepped quietly through the threshold. As she closed the front door without a sound, the cool night air breezed through her tiny apartment, ruffling her pin-straight hair. Whoever was here wanted her to know she was not alone or else they would've shut the window they used to get inside.

Natasha set her purse on the end table by the door, the one filled with mail for a ‘Ramona Northman’. She swiftly felt her side where she kept the engraved knife she usually kept on her at all times, a belated birthday gift from Clint. Natasha wasn't usually one to bring a knife to a gun fight but with the fall of SHIELD also came the end of the seemingly endless supply of weapons and ammo. She didn’t want to be unarmed when she faced whoever it was who awaited her: friend or foe. It was hard to tell which was which these days. She took calculated steps into the tiny living room and walked right into the line of sight of the intruder.

On the gray velvet armchair facing her sat the man she'd once obsessed over. The man who was responsible for the two scars that marked her body. The man Steve currently was trying to track down. The man who'd once been known as James Buchanan Barnes.

Moonlight shined from the open window behind him, the only source of light in the room, glinting dully off his metal hand. Behind where he sat, the almost-but-not-quite-sheer white curtains billowed in the cool summer night breeze. He looked up at her with a determined look, not unlike when she saw him last, when he’d caused the second scar. Something about him was different, however.

No longer was he HYDRA’s prized asset; gone was the black leather and in its place was a ragged black jacket that smelled like it hadn’t been washed in a while. His hair was wild, longer and contained only by the simple baseball cap that sat on his head. He had no weapon that Natasha could see, but she well understood how deadly someone could be without one. Her hand clenched, her heart rate rose. All she had to do was grab her knife and she could end it now. There was no way he could match her on speed.

“They call you… Black Widow?”

Natasha was surprised to hear his voice, flat and devoid of emotion. There was nothing menacing behind it, nothing like the looks he had given her back on the bridge. Her heartbeat began to slow and she began to wonder why he had come to her.

“They do.”

“You were trained… by KGB?”

One side of her mouth curled upward but didn’t quite form a smile. Was he attempting _small talk_? “Not quite. I was recruited by them after.”

“But you defected.”

“I wanted to do the right thing.”

There was a second of awkward silence as he looked away, losing some of the determination in his face, his metal hand clamped into a fist. Natasha couldn’t help but think of the red-headed ballerina who’d once been in a similar position. The girl Clint had saved.

“You’re friends with _Steve_?”

He glanced back at her face, not quite meeting her eyes. His lips tried to curl into a smile. Natasha knew what he was feeling well.

“Do you want me to call him? He’s looking—“

“No, I can’t. He's—I—there are flickers. Parts of memory.” He glanced up, the hesitation evident in his eyes. “He’s looking for his friend. I’m not _him_.” He whispered the last word.

A tear slipped out and Natasha fought the urge to wipe it away. Instead, she silently padded closer to him, placed a hand on his metal shoulder, and pretended not to notice the way he flinched. She took a deep breath. She knew the answer to the question already but she asked anyway.

“Do you have a place to stay?”

He looked down at the worn black boots he wore that were too big for him. The only way Natasha could tell he was shaking his head was by the slight movement of his hair. She took another breath and could almost hear Clint arguing with her very colorfully against her decision.

“Well, you do now.”

He looked up at her, eyes widening slightly in surprise.

“It’s safe enough here, only a handful of people know I’m here. I can help you, if you let me.” He looked up at her, actually locked eyes with her, and Natasha saw that flash of long buried pain that she knew too well.

“First things first: you need to _shower_.”


	2. Chapter 2

He hadn’t said anything since she made the suggestion, but he watched as she flitted in and out between the living room, her bedroom, and the bathroom, trying to gather up things for him to use. He didn’t have a change of clothes, so she tried to find things to fit him. Natasha had a few of Clint’s clothes lying around from all the times he’d stayed the night, but the two men were definitely different sizes. Though he’d be annoyed to hear it, the man who currently sat in her living room with a perplexed look on his face was just _bigger_ than Clint.

Natasha stood in her bedroom, in front of the dresser where she usually threw in random things she didn’t know how she’d end up with, like one of Tony Stark’s shoes with the extra heel (that he only wore around Pepper), or the handmade knitted scarf made with no regard whatsoever to color coordination (she swore she saw it in India when she recruited Bruce…). Her bottom lip caught almost painfully between her teeth as she realized what she had that would fit him.

It’d make sense that they would be approximately the same size, given they’d both been subject to similar serums…

She dug her fingers into the bottom of the drawer, letting them root around for the gray t-shirt and black track pants. Natasha had joined Steve’s early morning runs with Sam a few times before they left for their quest, and after they had breakfast at her place during the last run together, Steve had gotten a call from Fury. He changed quickly and left his workout clothes behind. Natasha had held onto them for the next time, whenever he got back from his search, the same search that was now rendered useless….

Natasha idly wondered if she shouldn’t just shoot Steve a quick text about her new houseguest as she quickly folded the clothes to give some semblance of order. After all they’d just been through, she didn’t like the idea of withholding information from Steve, but then again she didn’t make the choice. When she made a neat pile, she realized she had no underwear to give. Technically she did, but she had a feeling he would probably object to wearing black lace. Well, the Winter Soldier going commando wouldn’t be the weirdest thing in the world.

He had a confused look on his face as she held Steve’s clothes in front of him. He still sat on the gray armchair, but since Natasha had opened the lights, he looked so out of place in the light.

“Go, the hot water will do you good. If you’re really attached to what you’re wearing, I can get it washed for you. When was the last time you ate?”

He didn’t give any indication of having heard her as he stood, eyes still at the pile of clothing he held in his hands.

“You do know _how_ to shower?” The glance he threw her way was surprisingly more coherent, and if she wasn’t going crazy, had a glint of mischievousness. He went to the bathroom, shut the door, and almost instantly Natasha heard the sound of water.

“Towels are on the shelf!” She shouted out and she walked over to the still open window he’d used to get in. The chill in the night air was nice and soothing, but Natasha caught a glimpse of the orange tabby that belonged to her neighbor in the fire escape. She shut the window before the damned thing could creep in her apartment again.

Twenty minutes later, Natasha walked through the front door again, and set the greasy paper bag full of food that could’ve fed more than just two people on the tiny dining table near the kitchenette. She wasn’t a huge fan of the food served at the open-all-night diner down the street, but Clint loved it and if anyone knew what kind of food recently brainwashed people preferred, it’d be him. Besides, she wasn’t in the mood for the frozen nutritional meals once provided by SHIELD that her fridge was stocked with. She had a feeling the man in the other room wasn’t either.

“Hello?” She called out, not sure what name to use. “When you’re ready, I got food.”

Natasha hadn’t heard anything since she’d come back in. She wasn’t sure if he was still here. She went by the bathroom door, rapping on the door lightly with the back of her knuckle. “Hey, you still in there?”

The door opened suddenly and steam hit her face. He walked out and stood in front of her, looking impossibly tall. The same gray shirt that had been so figure hugging on Steve was looser on him, though the way it clung to him did a good job of displaying his upper body. At least he’d have no worry of his muscles ripping it open with the wrong flex….

The shower did do him good overall, his wet hair was looking noticeably less greasy and he smelled slightly of the peach shampoo she used. He even looked calmer, the feral look in his eyes not as apparent. His metal arm was weirdly less sinister looking with droplets of water trailing off it. Natasha looked at his face, stifling a strange longing to run her thumb over his jawline, to feel that growth of hair.

“I guess I should get you a razor….”

His own fingers went to his chin, feeling the stubble on the lower half of his face that was not yet quite a beard, but still way overdue for a shave. “It is long….”

“Well come on,” she clapped him lightly on the back. He stiffened immediately. “Food’s getting cold.”

She walked back to the table, began to take out wrapped sandwiches from the greasy bag, and set them in front of him after he took a seat.

“I wasn’t sure what you liked, so I got a lot of options, if you want fries, they’re in the bag.” He picked up the nearest one she’d set by him and took a hesitant bite. Natasha sat across from him and watched with an amused smile on her face as he slowly chewed that first bite, swallow, and then scarf down the rest of it. Something lit up in his face as he ate, and Natasha was sure it was because he hadn't had anything fried possibly _ever_.

“Make sure you chew, Soldier, you don’t want to choke.” She pushed an ice cold bottle of water across the table as he unwrapped another sandwich. He reached out with his free hand, his metal one, and brushed her fingers. He looked away instantly.

He had finished his third cheesesteak sandwich when he turned to her. “Thank you, Natalia.” She looked up at him, surprised, as she chewed her own chicken sandwich. “Is… that not your name?”

She took a sip of water and collected her thoughts. “In another life, it was. Now I am Natasha.”

“Natasha.” He tested it out with his tongue.

“Speaking of names,” He looked at her, the panic clear in his eyes for an instant as he began to realize where the conservation was heading, “I’m not quite sure what to call you.”

“I haven’t—I’m not sure….”

“Everyone’s gotta have a name.”

“I do—I did.” He gave her a pained smile.

“It doesn’t have to be the same name. You can pick what you want to be called.”

He glanced down, and then to her left. “James Barnes….” He whispered.

“ _James_ , then?”

“Yeah. James.” His gaze stayed down, focused on something years past. Natasha silently finished her meal, watching him lost in memory. She resolved to give him some privacy so she got up and put away the leftovers. She padded over to the sofa in the living room to prepare it for the night.

“You didn’t have to do this.” James said after she had tried to make the couch more comfortable with a pillow and blanket.

“I know. I didn’t do it for you. You’re taking my room.”

“I can’t—“

“You’re going to need it. I know how bad the nightmares can get.”

“I already put you out enough….”

“Hey, people are always going on about how my couch is so comfy, I need to see for myself. Now, to bed. When was the last time you got a full eight hours on an actual _mattress_?”

It hurt Natasha to see James actually having to stop and think about it, so she practically shooed him into her bedroom, which was a first. She turned off the lights, closed the curtain when she saw that orange tabby’s green eyes staring at her from the window, and then changed into a black tank top and black pajama bottoms.

Natasha grabbed her phone and sat down on her bed for the night, wondering again if she shouldn’t send Steve a quick message that James was safe. Her fingers hovered over the screen, but in the end she only sent him a message asking him how the search was going. She hated herself for keeping this from Steve, but ultimately, it was James’ decision. And she couldn’t fault him for that.

She put the phone down, and laid her head on the pillow. She wondered how Clint managed to do it all those years ago with the ballerina, the pieces of her that he managed to patch back together until they almost formed a person again.

With all that red, it was hard to be whole, no matter how much she tried.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I made a quick sketch of Natasha's apartment at my tumblr (be warned if you decide to follow me, I post a looooooooooooooooooooooootttttttttttttt of Sebastian Stan): tmblr.co/ZqX-us1LZJ74S


	3. Chapter 3

It was hard to not dream when Natasha slept. She wouldn’t have minded if her dreams weren’t filled with everything she fought hard to wipe away, something she’d have to start all over. She still didn’t know if she should’ve been grateful or alarmed when she began to grow used to her nightmares. She wondered if James remembered anything of his missions, if that made it hard for him to sleep as well.  


Natasha shifted to her other side, the leather of the couch sticking unpleasantly to her exposed skin. For all Clint liked to complain about her couch, it wasn’t actually that bad. She had to face much worse sleeping conditions growing up.  


The fact that her apartment was scorching hot was the reason why she was awake. Natasha would’ve cracked open the window to let some air in but she could already hear the damned orange tabby lightly scratching at the glass. She picked up her phone off the nearby end table, the light nearly blinding her. It was only two minutes after four. She had no new messages, she noted with a guilt inducing amount of relief.  


Natasha had to find a way to let Steve know he was alright at least. Steve should have been the one helping James, he was his friend after all. She didn’t even know why she put everything in her life on hold to play fucking house with the man who tried to kill her twice, almost succeeding both times. Natasha exhaled suddenly, and wondered when her thoughts began to sound like Clint.  


Her fingers went to the just barely healed scar on her shoulder, tracing it absentmindedly as it ached again. She was supposed to use a cream on it….  


The phone in her hand buzzed, and Natasha steeled herself before she checked it. It wasn’t from Steve. It was a number she didn’t recognize. She opened the message, it was a seemingly random string of letters and numbers. She bolted upright to properly look at it, the last traces of slumber trailing away as she recognized a pattern in the jumble of nonsense. It was a message, written in the code used only by Nick Fury.  


The sky was beginning to brighten with streaks of red and pink when Natasha finally cracked it.  


“Could use you for an op if you’re free,” it said simply.  


Natasha stared at it for a moment and then put her phone back on the table. She got up to open the curtain, to let in the light. She stared at the bit of sunrise she could see from behind all the buildings. Before all this, she had been waiting on Nick while she laid low….  


A flash of something orange slinking around the metal fire escape outside and Natasha sighed. She marched over to the kitchen, filled a small bowl with water, and left it outside her window. She had been leaning over the open window, absentmindedly petting the ginger tabby when the bedroom door opened and she heard the silent padding of footsteps. Natasha turned to look at him and smile.  


“Sleep well?”  


James looked at her strangely, taking a moment to observe the scene. His dark hair was messy again, as if he’d been tossing and turning, and dark bags under his bloodshot eyes.  


“I didn’t sleep.”  


James wandered over to the window and stood shoulder to shoulder with her, the fascination apparent on his face as he gazed at the cat. Natasha could feel the heat radiating off his body. She was also very aware she was just wearing her flimsy SHIELD sanctioned tank top and matching pajama bottoms.  


“You should try to, if you’re not. It helps with memory.”  


“…I can’t shut it off.”  


“Shut what off?” She stopped stroking the cat and turned to him, giving him her full attention.  


“The thoughts. The—my mission.”  


His metal hand reached out toward the cat but hesitated. Natasha bit her lip, remembering that part of her decommission very well. Clint still had scars.  


“You can learn to quiet it. Some things you won’t be able to, but you can minimize most of it…” Natasha gently grabbed his outstretched hand and pushed it toward the ginger cat. She was a bit surprised at how the metal wasn’t cold at all. “It’s alright, you won’t hurt her if you’re careful….” She moved away when he began to stiffly stroke the top of the cat’s head. Natasha smiled when she saw the concentration on James’ face, the quiet intensity in his blue eyes.  


“It’s little things like this that help.” Natasha patted his shoulder and walked away, back to the couch.  


She picked up her phone and began to write a message in the same code Nick had used. After she sent her reply, she glanced back at James. He had taken a half step back, the tabby was now on her windowsill glancing up at him with its green eyes and mewling softly. He glanced back at Natasha with a confused look on his face, but she smiled encouragingly at him. James looked back at the cat, and hesitantly pet it again on the head. After a few minutes, he worked his way to running his hand down its back. The cat purred in response.  


“Great,” Natasha bit back a grin. “Now she’ll never leave.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Meant to have this up earlier, but I had a death in the family. Not sure when I'll have the next one up, I'm sort of going through a grief induced writer's block.


	4. Chapter 4

She never felt more alive than when she could feel the life slipping from one of her targets, and it was best when she could feel it with her own two hands. She sat on top of him and continued squeezing, using her body weight for extra leverage, fulfilling a dark desire deep inside her that not even sex could satiate.

She’d begun to believe his lies, believe in the idea of redemption but no one like her ever got a chance of that. She couldn’t play the role of white knight, not after all the things she’d done. She’d never be able to do good in the world, be on the other side of history for once. Like most of her life, the promise of atonement was only a lie.

It was all a test, the KGB was just testing her loyalty. She didn’t even think the man before her was really SHIELD, he was no match for her.

The target’s face slowly started changing colors as he tried to fight her hands off from his neck futilely. He clawed at her face, drawing blood, but she ignored it just like she did the red droplets that fell on him. She knew he was on the ropes when he began reaching his left hand out in vain for the bow that was only a few feet away yet just out of reach.

She’d almost failed this test, but she finally remembered herself.

“ _Natalia_!”

Natasha snapped her eyes open, darting her eyes back and forth as she took in her surroundings, her heart pulsating like drums. She was in one of her safe houses in Washington DC, in her tiny living room. Some documentary on life in the 1940s was on the television, the StarkTech tablet still in her hand had gone to sleep. She glanced at her left, James sat on the same grey armchair he appeared in when he had first asked her for help. His eyes were trained on the television and deliberately not on her, his face full of determination. It was such a stark contrast to how he carefully stroked the cat on his lap.

Natasha tried to calm herself down by taking slower and deeper breaths. She busied herself with the tablet but she was in no mood to read about Maria’s latest reports on Tony Stark’s shenanigans. She set it down and stood up, feeling James’ curious eyes on her back as she went to the open window, and stepped out onto the fire escape for some air.

It was hot, much too hot. Natasha shed her light grey blouse but left on the black top she wore underneath. She sat on the steps, running her fingers through her straight hair, and then crouched over, willing herself to calm down. She ignored the stinging on her shoulder from her healing wound.

From the corner of her eye, she saw the curtain move slightly and then saw the orange cat slink by her as it ran back where it belonged. She forced herself to take a shaky breath as James slowly climbed through the window. She plastered a smile when he finally looked at her.

“We definitely need to find something to call that cat.”

“It’s Bitsi. It’s on her collar.” He sat near her on the steps, her discarded blouse on his other side. He looked over to where some children were playing on the street, several floors below them. His eyes didn’t leave them. “Are you all right?”

Half a hundred different lies were on the tip of her tongue yet what slipped out of her mouth was not one of them. “I’m trying to be.”

“Nightmare?”

Natasha glanced the two boys James had been watching. They were playing with a toy version of the Iron Man mask, designed by the man himself. “Is it a nightmare if it really happened?”

“Memories can be more haunting. Every time I close my eyes, I feel like I’m going on ice again.” One side of his mouth twitched upward as the smaller of the two boys grabbed a trash can lid and used it as a makeshift shield, but James couldn’t hide the weariness from his eyes. In a rush of sympathy, Natasha squeezed his hand, the flesh and blood one that had been resting on his leg. He squeezed back, finally tearing his eyes away from the boys to look at their hands.

“Do you get them a lot? These night—dreams?”

“Not often but recently, yes.”

“We’re a couple of broken things, aren’t we?”

Natasha met his gaze with an equal intensity of her own. “Being broken isn’t permanent.”

“How long did it take for you? To not be broken?”

A cruel smile tugged on the edges of her mouth. “I’ll let you know when I get there.” Natasha slipped her hand out of his and traced the healing scar on her shoulder absentmindedly. She gasped suddenly as the stinging in her wounded shoulder returned, much sharper this time. James snapped his eyes to her and then to the reddening scar.

“Your shoulder… when was the last time you cleaned it? Stay here.”

Natasha watched, a little stunned, as he went back into the apartment and returned with some supplies she kept in her bathroom. She was also amused to see he had gotten out one of the hair ties she bought during her shopping spree earlier that day and put his hair up. Natasha cracked a smile when he dipped the edge of one of her good towels into a small pail of a soapy solution and began to gently scrub her wounded shoulder.

“I would have never thought that the Winter Soldier knew any first aid.” She smiled through the stinging sensation. James broke away from concentrating on his work to give her a small smile.

“It was necessary to know enough to patch up during ops where the handlers couldn’t be around.”

His clinical tone quieted Natasha. She wondered how much of Bucky had returned. He certainly looked better than when he’d first appeared to her, though that was mostly due to the new clothes and razor she’d gotten for him. She’d also offered to give him a haircut but he only ran his hand through his hair and refused.

He finished cleaning her scar and looked it over. “It has to be disinfected now.”

Natasha bit her lip and nodded, turning her eyes to the boys again as James dabbed some rubbing alcohol on a clean corner of the towel and ran it over her shoulder. The sting of the alcohol brought out an intense burning that seeped its way to the bone but Natasha breathed through it.

“I’m sorry.”

Natasha glanced at him. “It’s not your fault, you were under HYDRA’s—“

“Not in that moment. Not in Odessa. _I_ wanted to beat the one who managed to outmaneuver _me_ … I wanted to leave a scar.” He set the towel down, stroking the undamaged skin around her wound with his thumb. “I don’t think HYDRA had anything to do with that….”

Natasha could feel her heart hammering in her ears. Her thoughts instantly went to the gun she kept stashed with the full round.

“And what do you want now?”

His eyes didn’t move from her skin but his thumb had stopped lightly rubbing circles. “I don’t know.”

Natasha stayed under his touch until she heard her phone beep from inside. “I should go order some food… What do you want?” She stood suddenly and from the corner of her eye, she saw his metal arm reach up after her but pull back into a fist.

“Anything’s fine.” He mumbled, his voice sounding more husky than normal. Natasha climbed through the window back into her living room, feeling very heated. She fetched her phone and went into her kitchen in search of the menu for the greasy diner that James had begun to develop a fondness for. She put them both down on the little dining table and glanced at the new message notification on her phone. She’d just opened it when she spotted James coming back in with everything he’d used to clean her up. She flicked her eyes back on her phone when he glanced her way.

The new message was from Steve. “Sam and I are fine. Following a new lead. Seems promising.” It read, her mangled heart threatened to break again at the optimism in the short message. Natasha had just hit the reply button when James suddenly stopped in the doorway, eyes on the front door. She had to talk to him about letting Steve know he was safe at least, this was just too cruel to him.

“James, we need to talk about St—“

“ _Shhh_.”

Natasha heard it then. The unmistakable sound of picks fumbling with the lock on her front door. She stood, quickly and quietly. She and James were a formidable challenge to most, but their best chance was to run, out the window and onto the fire escape if it wasn’t being monitored.

Then she heard the lock catch and the doorknob began to turn slowly.

Before the door could even open fully, James marched over and clamped his metal hand over the intruder’s neck and ripped them inside. He slammed them against the wall and Natasha caught a look at their face.

“James, stop! It’s not HYDRA.” When he didn’t budge, she slipped in between them, forcing James to look at her. “He’s not a threat.” The look he gave her was cold and Natasha felt like she was back in Odessa, on the bridge. However, he slowly retracted his hand.

“Clint, what are you doing here?” Natasha turned to him as he coughed and rubbed his neck.

“I came to see _you_ , dammit Nat. I didn’t know you got a new attack dog.”

“You idiot.”

She pulled him into a hug, feeling James grow awkward behind her. She felt him move away and the window in the living room open again.

“Tough crowd.” Natasha could feel Clint’s arms tighten around her and she glanced at the open window.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fun fact: that attack dog line is the reason I decided to write this story.


End file.
